


Alohamora

by nitsanapocalypse



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Claustrophobia, Fluff, HP: EWE, Harry Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Quidditch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-27
Updated: 2017-01-27
Packaged: 2018-09-20 06:08:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9478880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nitsanapocalypse/pseuds/nitsanapocalypse
Summary: In which Harry is stuck in a closet and Draco helps him out with some ball games.(All double entendres can be taken literally.)





	

Harry wasn’t afraid of spiders. Or of the dark. Or of small spaces. This was not surprising, he’d spent half his childhood in a cupboard after all. Harry wasn’t afraid of anything.

At least that’s what he told himself as he rattled the door handle of the broom closet violently. Waiting for it to pop open as though it had only been pretending to be locked. It was just a joke. Harry shuddered because he was sure he felt something brush up his leg. He nearly burst into tears because he couldn't see anything, it was too dark. And he couldn’t think, he couldn’t _breathe_ because this closet was way, way too small. Harry was terrified of the potential spiders lurking in the corners, of heavy blackness surrounding him and of the walls that were much too close for comfort. This was not surprising, he’d spent half his childhood in a cupboard after all. 

Harry made for his wand. His trembling fingers reaching into his robes but he couldn’t get them to grip anything, instead he shook the hem until the wand clattered to the floor. He tried to reach down but he couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t. He tried to sit but ended up just collapsing on the floor in a messy heap. His finger closed around the wand and he thought _Alohamora. Alohamora._ But he couldn’t say it. He couldn’t say anything. And the door stayed locked. 

He suddenly felt inexplicably hungry. Like he had’t eaten for days even though he’d only just had lunch. He needed to calm down. He pictured the Qudditch pitch. The liberating feeling he had whenever he flew on his broom. He pictured the sky. He held onto that picture, and for a fleeting moment he felt better. But then he opened his eyes and there was only darkness, spiders, hunger and walls. 

All he could do was thump his fist against the door. He hit the door. Again and again and again. No one was coming though. No one had ever come. Harry had to sit this out. Sit out his punishment. _Alohamora._ Harry thought desperately. He isn’t sure he’s actually breathed the whole time he’s been in here. And he’s pretty sure he’s been in here for hours. 

“Is someone in there?” Came a voice from outside the door. A voice, a voice. Harry held onto the voice. He was going to be fine. He just needed to remember how to breathe. 

 _Yes,_ Harry thought in anguish, but he couldn’t say it. He still hadn’t taken a breath. He hit his fist against the door.

“ _Alohamora”_ He heard the person on the other side of the door say. The lock clicked. The door opened. And there was light. And Harry could breathe.

Harry scrambled up and leapt out the door, stumbling onto his rescuer. His eyes met the steely grey ones of Draco Malfoy. He leaned against him for a little longer, clutching Malfoy’s arms, relishing the fact that he was with another person. That he was out of that wretched cupboard- _closet._ He probably looked completely mad and Malfoy was definitely going to make fun of him later. But for right now Harry needed to be outside. 

“Potter, what-“ Malfoy exclaimed when he had somewhat grasped the situation at hand, but Harry had already begun sprinting away. Out the door and onto the lawn. 

 

Draco was not going to follow Harry Potter. He was not. Potter was the one who followed him around like the ridiculously nosy git he was and Draco was not going to sink to his level. Besides, he’d had enough Harry Potter drama than any person should ever have to deal with. Draco was ready to turn around and head to class, to prepare some jokes about Potter locking himself in a closet to share with his friends at dinner while Potter looked at him with that idiotic expression on his face from across the hall. But then he remembered the look in Potter’s eyes. He was terrified. The Boy Who fucking Lived looked absolutely petrified. He was shaking and sweating and he just looked so, so small. Like the boy Draco had met seven years ago in Madame Malkin’s. 

“For fuck’s sake, Potter.” Draco muttered as he reached into the closet, picked up the wand and glasses that lay on the floor and chased after that melodramatic git.

 

Draco found him on the Quidditch pitch. Just standing there. Hands hanging limply by his side, back hunched, head hung.

“You are aware that you’re a wizard, right?” Draco drawled. It probably wasn’t the right thing to say. But Draco didn't really know what to say in situations such as these. Let alone situations such as these involving Harry Potter. 

“Alohamora is a first year spell, Potter, honestly.” Draco rolled his eyes, he couldn’t help it. Potter was unarguably being an idiot. Not being able to magic himself out of a locked closet. _Honestly._

He still hadn’t said a word. He hadn’t tried to defend himself. Draco took a step closer. Only then did he realise that Harry’s shoulders were shaking and he was taking long, deep breathes. Like he had to get as much oxygen as possible in each time or it wouldn't be enough. Suddenly Draco felt the pressing need to comfort him. So he reached out and placed a hand on Potter’s shoulder. He stopped shaking. He stopped everything and turned around. His eyes were red and puffy.

“I’m not claustrophobic.” Potter informed Draco. But he said it so quietly, Draco wasn’t sure if he was talking to him or himself. “I’m not.”

“Uh, are you sure?” Draco asked. It came out like he was taking the piss. He wasn’t. At least he wasn’t trying to. It’s just that this _was_ the reaction expected of someone who was claustrophobic. So it is rather understandable that Draco had a hard time believing the adamant boy in front of him.

Potter looked like was going to start crying. Or continue crying was more likely, “I am not claustrophobic, Malfoy. And I’m aware that I’m a wizard. And I remember my first year spells. But I don’t need to explain myself to you. I don’t.” He grabbed Draco’s hand and shoved it off him. A silence settled between them.

Draco broke it, “You don’t. But you can,” he’s not really sure why he is saying this. He does not have time for this. He’s meant to be in class. And also he really doesn’t care. This is just another episode of the Potter Show and Draco refuses to be an avid watcher. But he has to know. He has to know why The Boy Who fucking Lived looks so scared. 

Besides Potter was a talker. All those sodding Gryffindors were talkers. They had to talk about their feelings and opinions and every single bloody emotion they had to feel better about themselves. And Potter looked like was about to hyperventilate and the only way Draco knew how to help him was by making him talk. “You can tell me. If you need to, I suppose.”

Potter doesn’t reply.

“Look, I’ll offer you a deal. You can talk to me and I won’t tell anyone. And you don’t tell anyone that I saved you from the oh-so-scary closet or that I helped with… whatever this is. No one needs to know how devastatingly heroic I am. We’ll just walk away from this.”

Potter sits down. Fingers threading through the grass, ripping pieces out and placing them back down in place, as though they hadn’t ever been harmed. Draco looks down, unsure if this is a yes or a no.

“I do know a little something about being scared.” Draco whispers, so quietly he’s positive Potter doesn’t hear. But Potter head jerks up quickly, signifying that he had. He beckons for Draco to sit down.

 _Beckons._ Like Draco was his servant. He takes a deep breath. He will try to be helpful (Though it’s kind of been killing him so far). Draco sits down on the grass directly in front of him and extends his hand.

“Deal?”

Potter just looks at it for a moment. Then wraps his grass-covered stubby fingers around Draco’s slender ones. It feels strangely nice. Holding Potter’s hand. It’s warm, slightly sweaty. But it doesn’t gross Draco out like clammy hands usually do. They feel strangely nice. Draco kind of doesn’t want to let go. But then he does and his hands feel cold again. 

Potter stretches his hand out again and leaves it hanging, palms facing upwards in the air. _Does he want to hold hands or something_ , Draco wonders, beyond bewildered. He is most certainly not going to sit on a field and hold hands with Potter, no matter how strangely nice it feels.

Potter then beckons again. Draco clenches his fists.

“My glasses, please, Malfoy. You look like a mushy potato to me right now.” Potter says, sounding more like himself. Draco hands him the glasses and his wand. The glass on one of the lenses is slightly cracked.

“Reparo.” Potter fixes the glasses with ease and places them on the bridge of his nose. “I accidentally locked myself in a closet.”

“I deduced that myself, amazingly. Would you mind sharing how. Or why?” Draco sighed. It had just occurred to him how highly unusual this all was. He and Potter hadn’t really spoken since the trial. There had only been some slight nods of the head as they passed each other in the corridor. And even those were barely distinguishable.They hadn’t actually spoken at the trial either. Potter just spoke about him. Rather kindly actually. Kinder than Draco probably really deserved. This was highly unusual, but it also felt kind of natural. Maybe it was just the state of truce they were both in. For now, the past and future didn’t really matter. They didn’t really exist.

“I was avoiding Slughorn.” Potter explained, “He’s been on my case all year. He has no idea why I’m not as good at potions as I was in Sixth Year. He seems to think it’s because I’ve undergone such a trauma. He keeps trying to give me pep talks and offer additional potions support. I just really didn’t want another talk about how damaged I was, so I slipped in the closet.”

Draco was quiet for a moment. But curiosity got the better of him for the second time that day, “Why _were_ you so good at potions in Sixth Year?” He had to know. He was positive that had he been the best in potions, which he usually was, he’d have been invited to that godforsaken Slug Club. He didn’t really want to go, he had too much on his mind that year anyway. He just wanted to be invited.

“Are you serious?”  
“Kind of.”

“I’m not telling you.”

“Why?” Draco whined.

“Because.”

“I think I know how you did it.”

“No you don’t,” Potter said, but he looked up from the grass, waiting for Draco’s theory. 

“In one of my very rare moments of vulnerability, you managed to possess me and forced me to make all your potions for you.” Potter rolled his eyes and shook his head. Draco might have imagined it but he thought he saw a ghost of a smile take shape on Potter’s face. This made him feel relieved. It also made him proud that he was the reason behind Potter’s smile for a change. 

“Alright, then, you were in the closet. The door had locked. Why didn’t you just magic yourself out?” This was a genuine question, Draco wasn’t trying to sound rude, but Potter suddenly looked really angry. 

“Oh! I _just_ had to magic myself out! I _just_ cannot believe I hadn’t thought of that. I am _just_ such a silly duffer.” Potter’s voice dripped with sarcasm, Draco was surprised some didn’t dribble out of his mouth and burn a hole in his robes. Draco narrowed his eyes, he was not appreciating this attitude.

“Don’t do that, Potter. Tell me the truth. Why didn’t you cast _Alohamora?”_ Draco’s voice came out forcefully and evenly, he sounded quite mature. Kind of like his mother. He liked it. 

Potter’s face softened, “Sorry,” he muttered, facing the grass again. He kept pulling out the grass. His fingers grabbing handfuls upon handfuls and ripping them out. 

“I just… I couldn’t” He whispered eventually, “I couldn’t do anything.”

“I couldn’t even breathe.”

Draco didn’t know what to say. Well, he did know what to say; this was a clear sign of claustrophobia and that was fine. Well, it wasn’t fine but it was just a… thing. A thing people have to live with and now Potter had to live with it too. But he couldn’t say it, since Potter was rather incessant about not being claustrophobic. 

“Do you know any muggles?” Potter asked, rather randomly if you asked Draco. Perhaps this was some sort of coping mechanism for Potter. He would let it happen and then bring them back so they could sort this out. So the truce would end. So things could stop being so highly unusual.

“I’d have to say no.” Draco answered.

“I grew up with a muggle family, did you know that?” Potter said, he was looking at the sky now, he always seemed to be looking anywhere but at Draco. Draco, however, hadn’t taken his eyes off the boy in front of him the whole time. This was probably the only time Draco would ever get to look at Potter for an actual reason.

“I did know that.”

“They, um, they’re not bad people. I don’t think. I mean I don’t hate them or anything. They were just scared, maybe.” Potter said, his voice sounded far away. “ Afraid of magic, you know. My magic. The magic I couldn’t control when I was younger. So whenever they didn’t understand something, they would get scared and blame me.” He swallowed. Slowly. Carefully. It went down his throat in slow motion. His Adam’s apple rising and falling in a slightly mesmerising way. “There was a cupboard under the stairs. It was my bedroom. And they put me in there for weeks at a time sometimes, if I’d done something bad. Or just unexplainable. Sometimes they forgot me. Forgot to leave food. Water. They just forgot. And today, I was locked in the closet and I felt like I was back there. Before Hogwarts, back when I was helpless and forgotten. And I just couldn’t breathe.”

 

Harry couldn’t look at Malfoy. It was too embarrassing. He still couldn’t really believe this was happening, He couldn’t believe he was telling _Malfoy_ all of this. He rarely talked about his past with anyone, even Ron and Hermione. No one had ever asked him before, and he was not about to bring it up. But this… It felt good. To talk about it. To try sort it out. He was still rather confused about everything, about how things ended with the Dursleys. But Malfoy - well, he had his own problems. So talking about this with him didn't make him feel damaged. Ron and Hermione just wouldn’t get it, having grown up in such good conditions. Malfoy’s family life wasn’t the best either, maybe he gets it. Or at least he wouldn’t judge. 

Of course, this didn’t mean Harry felt perfectly comfortable. this was Malfoy after all. Sure, they were in a truce right now but Malfoy would probably use this against him sometime in the immediate future. 

He decided to brave a glance and brought his eyes down to Malfoy’s face and he was rather shocked by what he found. The steely grey eyes that rarely showed any emotion were darker, stormy - almost a navy blue. And they were angry. So, so angry. Malfoy’s mouth was pressed into such a thin line it almost disappeared and his fists were clenched so tightly, Harry was sure that his nails were leaving little half moon marks on the palms of his hands. Did Harry’s sob story actually upset him?

Without warning, Malfoy stood up and walked away.

 

So that was that, Harry supposed. It was kind of nice while it lasted. Harry was sure he had felt a sort of unspoken understanding between the boys. Maybe he was just imagining. He made to get up when the sound of breaking glass filled his ears. 

He then heard a string of profanity. 

A rather aggravated “Alohafuckingmora”. 

A slightly calmer “Alohamora”. 

Another crash. 

More swearing. 

A door slamming shut. 

And then he saw a _severely_ pissed off Draco Malfoy dragging their two brooms, a bat, and a trunk that possessed what Harry thought might be Quidditch apparatus. 

And may Umbridge come back to Hogwarts as the fucking headmistress if that wasn’t simultaneously the scariest and hottest sight Harry had ever had the pleasure of laying eyes on. 

“That fucking sucks, Potter,” Malfoy claimed firmly, “Let’s play some Quidditch.”

 

It was exactly what Harry needed. How did he know? How did Malfoy know exactly what he needed? He stared at the back of the blonde boy’s head as they walked. Malfoy was leading him somewhere. He was huffing, Harry couldn’t tell if it was because he was still angry or because he was still carrying all the equipment. Harry took his broom and the bat out of his hands, just for good measure. 

“Fucking finally.” Malfoy muttered under his breath. Harry rolled his eyes. Of course. They walked for a while more, past the lawn, past Hagrid’s, past the Whomping Willow. It was getting to areas that Harry hadn’t ever really explored. 

It was when Malfoy started going through a cluster of trees that Harry spoke up, “I’m not going into the forest. I’m pretty sure the centaurs have agreed that the one who finally kills me gets to be the next Centaur King.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. The centaurs dislike you just as much as any human. And we’re not going into the forest, we’re going-,” He shoved through a rather thorny looking bush, “Here.”

The trees made way for a medium-sized clearing, a few metres ahead the forest started. It was really nice actually. The trees huddled around in a half circle, a makeshift pitch. Harry noticed several cigarettes lay crushed around the place. 

“Super Secret Slytherin Spot. And the occasional Hufflepuff. I’d probably be murdered if they knew I’d shown a Gryffindor.” Malfoy shook his head.

“How do I not know about this place?” Harry pondered aloud in disbelief.

“Because you’re a Gryffindor. You either sit quietly in an area the teacher’s have allocated or lose your shit completely and run into the Forbidden Forest stark naked yelling ‘Who wants to be the next Centaur King.’” Malfoy retorted. Smiling smugly as he placed all the equipment on the ground and opened the trunk. 

“No we wouldn’t.” Harry said quietly. Malfoy scoffed. “And the occasional Hufflepuff?”

“Yeah, some found it on their own. And Blaise brings Henley all the time. Boyfriends and Girlfriends from other houses are the exception, I suppose.”

“Well, if anyone gives you a hard time for bringing me here, you can just tell them we’re shagging.” Harry joked. He immediately regretted it, what the fuck kind of joke was that? He braved a peek at Malfoy’s face and saw that he was blushing a furious crimson. 

“I think-,” Malfoy cleared his throat, it had come out all squeaky, “they’d give me a harder time about us,” he cleared his throat again, “shagging than anything else.”

“What, because you’d’ve been sleeping with a bloke?” Harry inquired. Merlin, this was an embarrassing conversation. And he’d really like it to be over, but he couldn’t help but ask. There had been rumours about Malfoy’s sexuality and this was probably the only time Harry could find out the truth.

Malfoy’s eyes narrowed but his blush seemed to get even deeper, if that was possible, “No one important would be surprised about that part, actually,” He answered hotly. Oh. Malfoy swiftly turned around and picked up the bat. 

“Oh shit, no Malfoy. Sorry- I didn’t mean to pry. Remember the truce-,” Harry panicked and fumbled for his wand. He really did not want to be on the receiving end of an angry Malfoy with a bat.

Malfoy rolled his eyes (He seemed to do that a lot, Harry noticed.) “Don’t be ridiculous, Potter. This is for you to use.” He handed Harry the bat and moved to open the trunk, “Now, I know you said you didn’t hate the muggle family. But you must be mad. I mean, I’m mad and I’m not even you,” He pushed the trunk open and began fiddling with the latch that held the spasmodic bludger down. “I’ll- ugh, I’ll let this out. Oh fuck-,” His voice strained as he struggled to keep the bludger down in his arms, “And- ah, and you hit it. Imagine whatever you want. The walls of that godforsaken cupboard or even that muggle family, no one will blame you, if you imagine them. Ok- ah- ok I’m letting it go now, get in position.” Harry stayed still, “Potter! I can’t fucking hold it, get in position.” Malfoy’s face was red and he was obviously floundering with the bludger but Harry didn’t get move. He just stared at the boy in front of him. The tips of his blonde hair were curling on his sweaty forehead. Harry felt a surge of gratitude and sentiment. This was exactly what he needed ( _How did Malfoy know?_ ). 

“What on earth are you bloody waiting for, Potter?” Malfoy spat, arms jerking around as the bludger begged to be set free. Harry snapped out of his daze and sprung into position. Elbows bent, knees buckled, bat ready. He wasn’t going to picture the Dursley’s, not even Uncle Vernon.

“Thank fuck,” Malfoy let the bludger go. Harry lunged at it with the bat and Bam, he smashed through the bricks of that godforsaken cupboard. The bludger flew, disappearing for a moment and then boomeranging straight back at Harry. Bam, he destroyed the door. He shattered the light. He demolished the shelves. He hit the bludger again and again and again until he was outside, until he stood, huffing and puffing- but standing tall- in the ruins of that godforsaken cupboard.

 

“Pertrificus Totalus,” Malfoy spelled at the bludger and it dropped to the ground with a rather pathetic flop. Harry stood gripping the bat, panting heavily. He reached up and wiped the sweat from his forehead and rustled his hair. Malfoy looked at him with an indecipherable expression on his features, he reached forward and placed his hand on Harry’s shoulder for the second time that day. His hand was gone as quickly as it’d come and Harry realised he was kind of upset about it. Harry looked at Malfoy for a bit longer, how the sun hit his face, making each angular curve of his features more prominent. His hair, now curly with sweat, was at the messiest Harry had ever seen it, blonde locks drooping into his eyes. He loved it, he wanted it to be that messy all the time. How he would keep himself from ruffling the boy’s hair every time he saw him from now on, he didn’t know. Prim, proper, Pureblooded Draco Malfoy looked so… normal. 

Harry had been staring for too long, Malfoy cleared his throat again. (Merlin, that sound was attractive.) Malfoy reached down and pulled a Quaffle out of it’s compartment.

“Hope you didn’t tire yourself out, Potter.” Malfoy sneered, “We’re about to play Quaffle Ball. And, I feel I should warn you, I’m really, really good.”

“Quaffle Ball?” Harry raised his eyebrows. 

“The Idiot Boy and I invented it,” 

“The idiot boy?” Harry’s eyebrows rose even higher.

“Yeah, bloody tosser that lived around the block from me when I was a kid. He was the only wizard in the area I was allowed to play with.” the corner of Malfoy’s lips rose.

“Why were you only allowed to play with him?” 

Malfoy’s half smile disappeared, and was replaced with a look of… guilt, was it?, “He was the only pureblood in my neighbourhood.” he shook his head, “Fucking ridiculous isn’t it all. I was allowed to play with the dolt who kept trying to ride the peacocks but not any one else.”

Harry paused for a moment.

“Are you trying to tell me that you never attempted to ride the peacocks?”

“Not past the age of nine, like that blithering idiot.” Malfoy said indignantly, “But Quaffle Ball was always amusing.”

“How do you play, then?”

“It’s rather simple in theory, but dead fun,” Malfoy said, sounding so enthusiastic that Harry was suddenly rather keen to play as well. “Well, I think it is anyway.” 

“So, one person zaps the ball. This was always my favourite part, it was the only time I could really do any magic when I was younger. I used to have to try summon all the magic into my kiddie practice wand and let it out on the ball and it’d fly in a random direction. First person to the ball wins. If you catch it in the air first you get to give the other person a zap with your wand. If you get to it on the ground first you get to inflict bodily harm on the loser.” Malfoy explained, clearly eager to relive some of his favourite childhood memories. 

“This sounds kind of violent.”

“Yeah,” Malfoy sighed happily, “And, uh, flying- it’s one of the best releases there is. It’ll probably make you feel better.” Malfoy scratched the back of his head awkwardly. 

“I already do feel better. Much, much better.” Harry smiled. And he did, “You’re kind of a softie, you know.” 

“Pfft, no I’m not. I just feel really, really sorry for you, Potter.” Malfoy jeered, but it had an air of friendly banter. Like they were making fun of all those stupid fights they’d had as kids. “Do try and keep up with me, Potter, it’s no fun if there’s no competition.” Malfoy gripped his wand and performed a wordless incantation on the ball, it flew up into the sky disappearing for a moment. The two boys scrambled for their brooms and jumped on top, racing towards the rapidly falling Quaffle. 

 

Draco’s not really sure how it happened, but somehow they got here. Potter’s stomach pressed against his own, hands on either side of Draco’s head. Potter looking down on him with shining eyes. Both of them sweating and panting and not showing any sign of moving from this compromising position. 

It had been approximately their fifty-third round of Quaffle Ball, but neither boy showed any sign of boredom, tiredness or lack of an insistent need to win. They’d lost count of points ages ago but that hardly mattered, they just needed to win this round. And the next round. And every round after that. They were sweating and laughing and throwing around quips and one-liners. The winner having to chase down the loser to claim their violent prize. Neither remembered anything in those moments. The war, their pasts, their families, they managed to escape it for a little while. That’s all Draco had wanted for so, so long.

But in the fifty-third round, Draco was ahead of Potter. He was nearly at the Quaffle, when he felt him leap onto him. They both crashed to the ground and the momentum had them rolling for a while until they stopped. In their current position. The Quaffle lay several centimetres away from Draco but neither tried to get it. Winning suddenly didn’t seem as important. Yelling at Potter for being such an impulsive idiot didn’t seem to matter either.

Potter’s leg shifted slightly, brushing against Draco and his cock gave an eager twitch. Slowly, Potter’s smile faded and his eyes, once playful, were now full of uncertainty- maybe even fear. _Fuck,_ Draco thought, what in Salazar was he thinking, _Potter’s not even fucking gay._ This was beyond ridiculous. Draco shoved Potter off him and crawled over to a nearby tree, sitting against it, hugging his knees tightly to his chest. He shouldn’t have admitted he liked blokes, he was used to the questions, used to brushing them off. But when Potter asked, (how dare he fucking ask, the absolute wanker), he kind of wanted to share. Now, Draco was sure, Potter was turning it into some sort of twisted joke. He clenched his eyes tightly shut. 

He sensed some movement but didn’t open his eyes, he wouldn’t open his eyes until he was sure Potter was gone. Back to the school, back to his friends. Joking about how Draco was a fucking fairy who fell for Potter’s scared little boy act and had actually tried to help him with some idiotically childish game he made up. 

Draco jumped when he felt a hand close around his, tugging it free from it’s position around his knees. He legs fell limply to the ground as his eyes trailed up from the linked hands to Potter’s face, still looking uncertain and fearful. Potter shuffled forward and leaned against the tree beside him, tentatively resting his ankle on Draco’s. Draco’s gape moved from their intertwined legs to their laced fingers in complete and utter shock. He couldn’t bring himself to shove Potter off a second time, this felt… it felt way too good. 

“Draco…” Potter said. Draco snapped his head up at the sound of his given name falling from Potter’s lips. God- he said it well. When he was younger he hated his name, it was too posh, too strange; kids always used to tease him about it. But Potter said it well. (Said it so, _so_ well.)

“Draco, I… I just want to say thank you,” Potter’s voice was soft and he started tracing circles with his thumb on the back of Draco’s hand, Draco’s breath hitched. What on _earth_ was happening? “I don’t think anyone but you could’ve helped me today. You just… you got it - you got what I needed. So, thank you, Draco.” 

Draco felt a warmth spread through him at this praise. He _helped_ someone. And not just someone- Harry bloody Potter. 

“I… You’re welcome, Po- Harry.” Draco stumbled. 

A gentle silence settled between the two boys. They sat, backs against the soft bark, refusing to acknowledge the bizarreness of their hand holding, just relishing the comfort it provided.

It might’ve been hours or it might’ve been minutes later when Draco broke the silence, “How can you not hate them? How can you not be mad?”

“I don’t really know.” Harry said shaking his head, “I just… I think that it’s just better to forgive.”

Draco looked up at Harry to find him already gazing at him. He looked into the other boy’s eyes, amazed at his maturity and just pure… _goodness_. 

“Easier?” Draco asked. It felt like this conversation was no longer about Harry’s muggle family.

“No.” Harry answered honestly. “Just better.” Harry’s gaze flickered down to Draco’s lips.

And suddenly, Harry’s knees were on either side of Draco’s thighs, straddling him.

Draco looked up at the boy on top of him, green eyes as bright as ever and dark black hair impossibly messy. Harry wasn’t exactly anyone’s typical idea of fit, but to Draco - in that moment- he didn’t think anyone had ever looked more beautiful.

Harry’s arms rested on Draco’s chest and Draco’s lay on Harry’s hips. Merlin, this was surreal. 

Harry shifted in Draco’s lap and Draco suppressed a groan by biting his bottom lip. The only sounds were those of the swaying trees and the boys’ quickened breath. 

Slowly, Harry inched forward, stopping just before Draco’s mouth.

Ah, fuck it. Draco pushed forward and diminished the gap. Harry released a gasp, his hands applied a light pressure onto Draco’s chest and for a moment Draco thought he was going to push him away. Instead the hands curled into fists clutching at the fabric of Draco’s shirt. 

And Harry _melted._

 

Draco kissed like he talked, Harry thought. All sharp and stubborn and authoritative. Tongue flicking in and out of Harry’s mouth skilfully and tracing against his lips. He was _good_ at this. 

Draco’s hands slid from Harry’s waist to his hair and Harry moaned into Draco’s mouth. Draco growled and the kiss became rather urgent. Harry needed more, he needed it all. He slowly started to rock his hips against Draco’s lap, his cock stirring happily. 

“Fuck, Potter,” Draco groaned, Harry could feel Draco getting fairly excited himself and smiled into the kiss. _He_ was doing _this_ to _Draco Malfoy_.

Draco swiftly flipped Harry onto the ground so he was straddling him instead. Harry lay, sprawled out on the soft grass with Malfoy sitting above him. Licking his lips, a hungry look in his eyes, hands clasped on Harry’s wrist, holding him down. Merlin, this sight should be _outlawed._

Draco’s head dropped, bringing his mouth a bit closer to Harry, but not close enough. He was making him reach for it. Bastard.

“Bastard,” Harry said, but lifted his head all the same. Harry would always reach for it. Doesn’t matter how hard it was, now that he knew what it felt like, Harry would always reach for Draco. 

 

They kissed for what felt like minutes but must’ve been hours because it was dark. So dark that Harry could no longer see Draco’s face. His lips felt numb and raw. His neck was definitely sporting several marks that people would question, but he liked it. He liked that Draco had marked him like that. His hair probably looked the same as usual, even though Draco had run his hands through it a million times. The boy seriously could not keep his hands off of Harry’s locks. 

They hadn’t taken it any further than kissing, Harry isn’t sure why, they both definitely wanted to, the proof was propped up in their trousers. But maybe this was enough for now. _Later_ , Harry thought, giddy at the idea of a later with Draco. 

“Are you going to help me, then.” Draco was up, moving towards the equipment that lay haphazardly around them. Harry stood up and stretched. He made for the brooms that had landed in the bushes after Harry and Draco’s serendipitous fall. Harry probably shouldn’t have jumped on Draco like that. But then again, Harry always did things that he probably shouldn’t’ve and they always seem to turn out fine. 

Way more than fine in this case. 

Pretty fucking brilliantly in this case actually.

Harry returned just as Draco was closing the latch on the trunk. He put his arms around the other boys waist and kissed his neck softly. Draco spun around in his arms and pressed his lips on Harry’s keen ones. 

Harry could do this forever.

“We can’t do this forever, Potter” Draco sighed against his lips.

“Why not.” Harry whined.

“Because it’s dark. We’ve missed our last two lessons of the day and probably dinner. I’ve left a massive broom shaped hole in one of the castle’s windows, the door to the Quidditch supplies shed half of it’s hinge because I kicked it shut and everyone has definitely assumed that I’ve kidnapped their oh-so-precious Chosen One and done dark, dirty things to him.” 

Harry paused.

“That’s kind of exactly what you did though.” Harry smirked when Draco rolled his eyes. 

“You’re so innocent. That was nothing, ” Draco sneered, fingers digging into Harry’s hips, “You have no idea what me being dark and dirty can entail.” 

He said it like a promise.

And Harry was hard again.

The trudge back to the castle was shorter than it had seemed on the way there. They were walking up the castle steps when Harry saw it.

The cat.

A cat looking more furious than any cat should have the emotional capacity to be.

With the usual amount of awe-inspiring grace, the cat transformed into Professor McGonagall. 

 

“There better be a monumental excuse for this behaviour, Mr Malfoy. Mr Potter.” Professor McGonagall stated briskly. 

Harry was ready to take the blame for this. If it wasn’t for Harry’s freak out in the closet, none of this would’ve happened. He was not about to let Draco take the fall for comforting him so well.

It’s just that… he knew he would have to tell everything. Explain the whole closet fiasco. And he really didn’t want to talk about it. Professor McGonagall would be worried. And then she would tell Molly. And then everyone would know and treat him with even more fragility than they already had been. 

“It’s my fault, Professor.” But the words hadn’t come out of Harry’s mouth. “Potter-uh, promised me he’d help me with my Quidditch. And this was the only time available for me, with N.E.W.Ts and whatnot. I made him go with me.”

Professor McGonagall was no idiot. She obviously did not believe this sorry excuse of an excuse. (Harry really thought Draco would be better at this.) She turned to Harry and scrutinised his face with narrow eyes. 

She seemed to come to the conclusion that this was all she was getting, “Well, I highly doubt you placed an imperious on Mr. Potter. This was a senseless decision made by both of you… equally. Fifty points from each of your houses and two weeks detention. You’re also to fix the door and the window… the muggle way. Oh- don’t give me that Mr. Malfoy. You should’ve considered this before you left unsupervised without informing a staff member.” Whilst what she said was aimed at Draco, she looked directly at Harry. And briefly, Harry thought he saw a flash of hurt in her eyes.

 

“I’m really sorry, professor. It won’t happen again.” Harry said sincerely. Professor McGonagall’s features softened. 

Then went back to their usual no-nonsense stature in 2.5 milliseconds flat.

“Back to your dormitories, then, boys. I’m sure you have many- uh- _stories_ to tell.” She gave them a knowing look, ushered them inside and headed to her office. Harry’s cheeks burned bright red.

 

“Thanks for that.” Harry said, “For covering for me.”

Mafloy made a flippant noise, “I figured I might as well take the hero act all the way.”

Harry pushed Draco onto the wall and kissed him with fever, hands buried in the silky smoothness that was Draco’s hair.

“And,” Draco murmured in Harry’s ear between kisses, “I get why you don’t want everyone to know.”

Harry smiled into the kiss.

Suddenly, the boys heard a faint - but unmistakable- _meow_. They jumped apart.

 

Draco cleared his throat. (Good grief- that sound was beautiful) “I’ll, uh, see you tomorrow, then Potter.” 

“See you tomorrow, _Draco_.” Harry said, emphasising Draco’s name and giving the other boy a pointed look.

Draco rolled his eyes but inched forward until his hands were on Harry’s waist, he leaned down and whispered, “See you tomorrow, _Harry_.” Draco dropped his head and brushed his lips against Harry’s for a few seconds before placing a feather light, but mind-bending, kiss on the corner of Harry’s mouth. Draco inched back with a smug look on his face.

Another- slightly more violent- meow echoed down the walls of the corridor and the boys raced back to their dormitories with guilty smiles etched on their faces.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Because the Slytherins have to have a super secret spot that they are ridiculously over protective of, amirite?
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing, all characters belong to J.K Rowling


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